Dominion I'll See You In Hell! | First Order Dominion of Hoth

[Resurgent Vignette]

Bitter cold winds swept over the frozen landscape as Karryar Ren stalked through a trench in the outskirts of his base. He clasped his hands behind his back, surveying the progress being made in setting up reinforcements. The automated defenses were already online, with ion cannons, heavy turrets, and the minefield standing ready to protect his base of operations from any attackers. His men were ready too, to lay down their lives if necessary, or to make any attacker lay down theirs.

It would only be the First Order, he knew. The decision to take up arms against people who should have been their brethren was not easy. Karryar had consulted with his men before butchering the First Order delegation sent to establish contact and seek reconciliation. It had been a collective decision, but the First Order had to learn one way or another that they were not entitled to all they surveyed.

Karryar had served the order, served Sieger Ren, loyally for fifteen years. He had barely escaped Dosuun with his life after his master in the Ren was killed. He’d done what he could for the Order, but when it became clear that there would be nothing left, he struck off on his own and set about to protect himself and his own ever-growing crew. And when the First Order was rechartered, his years of loyal service had been repaid by its upstart Moff Yvarro denouncing the Knights of Ren.

Well, Karryar thought grimly as he approached the shield generator complex, you get what you pay for. Ten dead from the small group of diplomats and so-called First Imperial Knights had been returned to Dosuun in crates. If the First Order wanted Hoth, they would have to go through him.

And so it had been, as scouting ships increased their reconnaissance over Hoth, a top priority to get the shield generator online, salvaged and repurposed from other bases in First Order space. Karryar opened the door and entered the small control station at the base of the massive shield generator. “Where are we?” he demanded without preamble.

“My lord,” the chief engineer said. “I believe we’ve repaired the power coupling issue. We were just about to perform a circuit test.”

“Do it,” said Karryar.

The engineer bowed and hustled up the stairs to the catwalk overlooking the power mechanism and double-checked a few connections, then returned to the main floor to the control panel. He opened a channel to the facility. “Stand by for circuit test.” He pushed the breaker, and a loud whirring sound spoke of the device spooling up. “My lord, the shield generator is up and running. It will protect us from any aerial bombardment.”

Karryar grunted with satisfaction. “Good. We’ll do this the old fashioned way.” He lifted his comlink to his mouth and said: “High alert. Prepare for ground assault. They could be here any moment.”

Spoiler: Details & Objectives

NOTE: Our brothers in the NIO are approved to join this Dominion. Tthanks, boys!

Objective 1: Walkers On the North Ridge

The First Order means to have Hoth, and for that, they need to secure the surface. To secure the surface, Karryar Ren must be dealt with. Due to efforts to make contact with Ren and his group, he knows the First Order is coming and has activated a powerful deflector shield, preventing orbital bombardment. First Order forces must destroy the shield generator to allow the landing of troops to eradicate Ren and take the facility. This is a good, old-fashioned fun AT-AT/tank assault in the grand tradition of Star Wars movies. Make sure to brush up on The Empire Strikes Back and The Last Jedi for inspiration!​

Objective 2: Catch of the Day

Military Intelligence Section 3 suggests that traffic in and out of the Hoth system is engaged in illegal smuggling. First Order Navy and Starfighter forces should stop traffic to perform routine contraband searches. There is little doubt that smugglers will attempt to run the blockade and disappear into the nearby asteroid field. First Order Starfighter Corps will be on hand to ensure that cheaters never prosper -- or escape justice.​

Objective 3: We Have No Choice

The First Order Security Bureau Archives are a site of immense strategic value, with data caches from the height of the First Order’s power. This data cannot be allowed to fall into enemy hands. The First Order must infiltrate the facility, cautious of the instability within, and get the transmitter up and running to send data out to waiting First Order naval vessels. Other physical artifacts may be present and should be evacuated if necessary. The facility must then be decommissioned or destroyed. But getting into the facility will be a challenge: smugglers have set up around the area, using the crashed hulk of a Ssi-Ruuk Imperium cruiser as their base of operations, controlling access to the archives as they seek to find a way in.​

Objective 4: 3,720:1

Bring Your Own Objective to the surface of Hoth or space around the ice planet.​

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

​

It was nearly impossible to hear anything over the sound of heavy armor, and that was just how Dresden liked it. Walkers plodded through the snow and ice with titanic indifference. Tanks rattled along, their engines spooling up to an apocalyptic cacophony that threatened to cause avalanches in any mountains within a hundred kilometers. His own section, a battery of RC-155 Mk1 Highballs, rode on air cushions, the howl of their ducted fans and the roar of air spilling out of their plenum chambers giving the tanks a run for their money.

Rule number 1 of armored warfare: stealth is relative. There's simply no way to disguise the racket that heavy ass brings with it. Making the vehicles quiet usually meant sacrificing some other element of performance, and when you were already balanced on the unsteady design tripod of speed, firepower, and protection, that simply wasn't an option in most cases. The trick, then, was misdirection. If you can't make your tanks stealth, you can at least have them show up where they're least expected, which is usually where the enemy is least ready to receive them. Showing up where you're least expected, with what you're least expected to have, is just as good as stealth when you're dealing death by cannon.

This assault was no exception. Armored warfare on Hoth was a tradition as old as anyone had given a damn about the frozen lump of hell that passed as a planet. Someone established a base, set up a shield generator, and forced anyone who wanted to take the base to slip an armored element under the shield to take out the generator. There were some variations on the theme. Either the armored thrust smashed its way through the defenses by sheer brute force, or was fast and agile enough to bypass them. There were merits to both plans, but Dresden wanted to try something new.

Before he began working for the First Order as an agent, Dresden spent a considerable amount of time working in a combined arms mercenary regiment. He wasn't a tank jockey by trade. As much as he admired the lumbering beasts, he preferred a more indirect method of attack: artillery. Nobody was brave when 155mm firecracker shells started scouring their foxholes with lethal shards of fiberglass, and precious little armor could stand up to a sustained bombardment from high angle HE. Trends might come and go in the world of military tactics, but artillery would forever be the final argument of kings.

 

[Rolf Amsel]

-
Objective I
{ ♫ }
​

Boots on the ground. The landing had been lackluster - far less turbulent than the Colonel remembered. Battlegrounds of the past, Mustafar, Hoth, Kaeshana. Those had been harrowing experiences, braving heavy anti-lander fire from starships, fighters, and ground emplacements. More than one First Order Stormtrooper had lost their lives in each of those conflicts before even reaching the surface. This? This felt more like a commercial shuttle trip. Gone were the violent shudders as lasers bounced off the hull, the sudden drops or bone rattling vibration of the deck plating beneath one's feet. "It might be calm now lads, it won't be once we press the attack. Make your peace." he'd advised the men.

They'd settled in, scores of landing assault shuttles descending from the combined hangars of the 9th Imperial Fleet. The FIV Erebus a mere dot in the near whited out sky. Rolf would have liked to imagine that conditions would have been better had they waited a day or two but he knew that was just his nerves talking - the weather never got better on Hoth. At night, a frigid below sixty degrees Celsius was the norm and though daytime did see temperatures rise it would never feel warm. A blessing then that their armor had been modified for the sever temperature. It gave him little confidence however, a person couldn't hope to come out unscathed when it came to combat in extreme conditions such as these. Frostbite. Hypothermia. Cramps. It was only a matter of time before the inescapable reality of the environment would become a factor. Their rally point had been several kilometers away from the main armor landing zone, a healthy hump to the disembarkation zone from which they would make their push towards the shield generator. Rolf hadn't been sold on the plan but with the mission constrains such as they were, bombardment was out of the question. This was probably the next best solution.

Rolf's complement of Stormtroopers had been hiking for nearly an hour by the time they'd reached the armor rally point. Both the officer and his men were happy to see the RC-155's, utilizing the artillery as impromptu transport - at least to the point where they would deploy. The rest of the way would be on foot for them. In truth, they were there to support the heavy walker element. Armor was only effective if it had infantry support, without it the walkers would be far too vulnerable. From where Rolf hunkered down against the hull he couldn't see much but what he could see was a blanket of white ahead - the weather would be upon them soon.

Dresden Verbrennung​

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

​

"I should have buried the bloody place when I had the chance," cursed Ariel from the bridge of the Concordia. She chewed on the inside of her lip, her eyes glazed over with thought. She held one of the Knights of Ren firmly in her grasp then, at least - until that one disappeared. Now here she was having to deal with another of the bloodied pets. This one smart enough to hold up in the base, wordlessly she rose from her seat and looked over at Captain Sun-Shin. ​

​

"Ready the 14th Legion," ordered Ariel as she departed the bridge. ​

​

The doors hissed shut behind the Foreign Secretary as she walked down the corridor, Captain Sun-Shin began the preparations. Officers and crew of the Resurgent-class battlecruiser scurried about to their postings. Internally the woman chided herself for not leveling the damn planet years ago, but she wondered if it would have made any sort of difference at all. Perhaps not, or perhaps so - a question she had no use of toying with now. Boots against the durasteel floor as she headed into the lift. ​

​

A woman with blonde hair entered with her, "Moff Yvarro."​

​

"Knight-Commander Roule." Ariel greeted as the doors to the lift closed "I don't often like the idea of sending our Knights to play fetch, but I want to make sure that any of our operatives who head out to the Archives make it back, with our data."​

​

"We live to serve our nation, Moff Yvarro," replied the Knight-Commander.​

​

Moff Yvarro's head tilted slightly with approval, "good."​

​

The lift doors opened to reveal a hangar that was busier than any of the corridors. Moff Yvarro stepped out with the Knight-Commander in tow, crossed the hangar floor and stopped in her tracks. "Inform Colonel Caceres to head on without me. I shan't be too far behind." Ariel provided the woman with a reassuring smile. She watched and waited as the Knight-Commander approached the Colonel and the two of them boarded onto a transport shuttle. Once they were out of sight, Moff Yvarro pressed forward across the hangar where she found her... niece, waiting. "Lieutenant Kinniak, I thank you for agreeing to this assignment."​

​

"Happy to help," remarked Kinniak with some hesitation.​

​

"Well, no need to worry, you'll need only to drop me off at these coordinates then I want you back with Black Squadron, do you hear me?"​

​

"Of course."​

​

Ariel climbed into the assault shuttle, whilst Kinniak took her seat in the pilot's chair. The older of the two women disappeared into the back, where a few plasticrates sat. One by one, Ariel opened them and began to assembled her gear. If anyone was going to make sure that the Archives were secure it was going to be Ariel, however; she couldn't present herself as the Foreign Secretary who was presumably still on the bridge of the Concordia.​

​

Instead, Ariel would present herself as Matidia Kurze. ​

​

​

 

[FN-999]

POST: I
COMMANDED UNIT: THE 19th (180/180)
NOTABLE OFFICERS: Thea
SPECIAL EQUIPMENT (Standard armaments implied): Snow armor | Flamethrowers
ALLIES: FO | Dresden Verbrennung | Rolf Amsel

The New Imperial stormtrooper column marched forwards in rows of ten without deviation.
​

FN-999 marched in the very front of the company, the proud ringleader of a band of distinguished soldiers. Yet beneath his cool facade, he felt uneasy. For over half of his life, he had been a loyal trooper of the First Order, serving with honor in countless engagements. His decision to abandon the Order upon its near-collapse at the hands of alien invaders may have been a practical one, but it was also voluntary. With the New Imperials now allies of a strengthening First Order, it was likely that intelligence agencies within the two factions would be beginning to cooperate with each other. If the First Order found him rising the ranks of a different state, he would be humiliated beyond belief. Worst case scenario, he could be forced back into the Order and disciplined for desertion.

Yet the New Imperial ideal maintained a considerable foothold within the captain, and he felt as if changing sides once more would only make his betrayals worse. Instead, he could cut his losses and stay on the side of an empire that had once more given him hope in the power of justice while continuing to serve his spiritual fatherland as a valuable ally.

Absorbing his new mindset, FN-999 once again diverted his focus to his surroundings.

It was hard to imagine that any organization would make a base in such an inhospitable environment, the cold of which caused the captain to shiver even through his cold weather armor. Yet the Rebel Alliance had done so centuries ago, and it seemed as if another hostile faction had taken up a similar approach. However, a far larger opposing force consisting of two allied factions would oppose this outpost, likely leading to a much swifter victory.

As the company crested a snow-packed hill, a large mixed First Order unit came into sight. Armor that FN-999 was intimately familiar shone brightly as they reflected the sun, their design nearly identical to how they had been in his days in the Corps. Heavy artillery also advanced forwards, their designs more modern and unfamiliar to the captain. Once the New Imperial infantry unit merged with the First Order infantry unit and established a joint command as per protocol, it would be the job of the Order's artillery to knock out the base's shield generator while the combined infantry command protected them from counterattacks. Once the shield was knocked out, the entire unit would advance and storm the facility, seizing control over a large portion of Hoth.

Before the company descended the hill, there was one more objective to be performed.

FN-999 stopped his march extended his right hand out in a straight line to his right, halting the company as a whole. He turned around to face the rows behind him and let out an order that would ensure that the company would be in combat-ready condition once the inevitable battle began.

"Squads and platoons, current logistics report!"

 

[Thea]

POST: I
COMMANDING OFFICER: FN-999
COMMANDED UNIT: Ocean Squad (9/9) - x1 Sergeant, x1 Combat Engineer, x1 3-Man Heavy Weapon Fire Team, x4 Stormtroopers
SPECIAL EQUIPMENT (SQUAD): Snowtrooper armor | Anti-Armor Missile Launchers
ALLIES: FO | Dresden Verbrennung | Rolf Amsel

It was cold. So cold. Even the environmentally-tempered damper the snowtrooper armor set provided was not warm enough for Thea. Her roots were among Shoretroopers, basking in the intense sunlight of the hot, humid tropics. Unfortunately for her acclimation to warm weather and poisonous wildlife, she was reassigned to the 908th which was far more versatile and general in terms of its assignment. And by lady fate, she ended up on one of the coldest possible places in the galaxy.

Hoth.

Even for the fledgling Force Disciple she was, she could feel the sorrow and pain that grated itself among the heavy sleet of hail that pattered on top of her armor. At this point, hundreds of thousands of lives had been lost on Hoth and their remnants in the Force clung bitterly and tightly against the frigid shell of Hoth.

'Brr.'

A shiver reverberated through her body and she took a few deep breaths to calm her spasming muscles. Clenching and unclenching her grip on her Imperial battle rifle, she took a brisk double-time jog over to FN-999.

The Captain of the the 19th Assault Company. She did not know much else, other than his unyielding nature that she had no joy experiencing during the past few weeks running training drills.

He was not a particularly sociable CO and was particularly brutal about mistakes and failures. While Thea had managed to avoid his wrath, she was not looking forward to enduring it directly and hoped that her experience and skills would effortlessly translate into a smooth time in the role.

Thea had spent enough time grappling with the horrors and loss of war, an angry CO on top was genuinely not on her wish list.

Hearing the CO's voice break through her comms, she quickly responded.

"Ocean Squad is fully equipped. All personal armor and weapon systems are fully charged and operational. Additional requisitions for flamethrowers have been distributed to the entire company and have already gone through the necessary preparations to handle severe arctic conditions."

Looking over at her 3-Man Heavy Weapons Fireteam, the Corporal in charge nodded as he looked up from his final inspection of their missile launchers. The two Privates double checked the counts on their thermal rockets, packing enough firepower to remove ten feet of frozen ground of any fortified position.

As everyone lugged forward down the hill, Thea's head constantly swiveled with her macrobinoculars, scanning for enemy positions and threats.

 

[The Major]

-62° Standard Galactic | Wind: 55 KPH
Morale: Shaken
♫

The frost is here!​

Weather in the immediate sector around the target location had soured immensely in the last few hours, temperature dropping consistently for a sustained period during that time. A storm had reared its ugly touch upon this surrounding area, having been fueled by a passing shortwave above the freezing waters of the nearby ocean bay. Localized, thus not distressing other operations upon the hellbound planet, but an intense nightmare of frigid lethality concentrated like a snow globe in the midst of its shatter. A wave of thundersnow cascaded in shivering sheets across the glacier side and hills, burying anything that remained still quickly, shrouding the expanse of fields in roiling black clouds too besmirched by trembling waves of windy blizzard. Barely anything could be seen that wasn’t white and whipping sharply upon the coast. The roar of the gust was only occasionally cracked by the clapping thump of a lightning strike and its brief illumination -but even these mighty bolts could hardly pierce the screeching gospel of whirlwind.

Major Shepard trundled along, head down against the wind shear, gait canted at an angle as she and two other figures marched uneasily across the ever shifting white hills. Regret twinged uncomfortably upon her awareness for dragging these comrades to this place forgotten by the gods. Colonel Rolf Amsel had urged caution, warned of the treachery of the sudden squalls that could take this planet, but Sybil had forsaken any abundances of caution out of confidence. A three person team could skirt any of the pirates suspected to be patrolling the coastline. Insulated gear could negate the hostility of the environment. Their combined skills could crack any technical hangups. This was folly. This world had technically killed Shepard once. It seemed eager to kill her again.

That misgiving seeped into her marrow as a deep chill and made her muscles brace with spasms at the gusts. Sybil grit her teeth perpetually, both due to cold and because she was hating what she had gotten Dash and En into. Their dropship had seized up in the coldsnap, stranding them to press their luck and find the administration building, at least until the maelstrom passed. They were very close according to Agent Dash’s navigation, but that didn’t make each of these minutes any less excruciating. Besides self loathing and following the data point there wasn’t much time to notice that there were no other tracks or signs of combatants -meaning that the more readily prepared jerks temporarily living nearby had some sort of weather detection system and had rightfully taken cover; either at their improvised base or within the Archive structure.

Neither helped the three agents at the moment, but as they advanced step by step they eventually found their prize -moreso for the potential for shelter than the mission- before them. The circular outer structure and generator tower loomed with no small amount of menace as a darker shadow than the frothing clouds overhead.

This outer front entrance happened to be cracked open, forced with what possibly could have been explosives -though any evidence was now covered in a white blanket. Snow drifts freely filled the massive atrium, low level emergency lighting casting this encroachment in sinister hues of sickly neon.

Better in than out. ​

And so they entered, the only constant the hissing passage of wind piercing the superstructure, guiding any who braved these walls into a world of ice and old secrets.

Ariel Yvarro | Aurelian Dash | Isobel Nakano ​

 

[Nima Vantoon]

Equipment: Armor, vibroshield, lightsaber shotos, WESTAR-34 blaster pistol x2

Fierfek. Fierfek. Fierfek. No, I guess cursing doesn't take your mind off discomfort.

Nima stifled another curse as a snow flurry blew into her face, as she trudged on. Not for the first time, she was happy this armor was somewhat insulated. As the invasion of Hoth went into full swing, the OIS operative was tasked with her own mission. The FOSB Archives had data that was of great interest to the Director- information that he would like to have, post-haste. Information that he would strongly prefer the OIS gain possession of. "Information is the currency of the realm", the Director would say enigmatically when pressed on the why, before sending her on her way.

Thus, Vantoon found herself on this Force-forsaken ball of ice. She had steered her shuttle onto a ridge opposite to the Archives. It was close enough to hike down, but out of sight of any of the smugglers.

She almost sighed with relief as the Archives came into view.

Just dispatch the smugglers, take the data, and destroy the Archives. What's the worst that could go wrong?

Ariel Yvarro | Aurelian Dash | Isobel Nakano | The Major

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

BLUE-HEART BATTALION

Allies: Dresden Verbrennung Rolf Amsel Thea FN-999

Aye, just when ah was wondering if we'd ever get ti use those damned Carbonite rockets, Hoth deployment - Sorted!

With personal authorizations granted by Lord Willan Tal, the handpicked presence of the Blue Hearts would be felt on Hoth's frozen surface, a setting most agreed wasn't far removed from Galidraan 3's coldest northern regions, so the particulars of such weather (and terrain) appeared more suiting for the likes of Erskine Barran's battalion in particular. Agreed by Barran to be the safest choice, (though everyone knew that Colonel Ulrand was also capable in such settings) the Brigadier-General would have Blue-Heart battalion mobilised and on-site soonest, with the coincidentally-local tank contingent given orders to make the marked-region safe for the landings of both his peers and late-arriving allies.

Their own landing, though flak-heavy on their descending approach to the surface, was safe enough that no casualties were to be reported by the time all the Blue-Hearts linked comms and rallied to Erskine's position, so everything was quick-and-easy for the Lord-Major's officers by the time the Cataphract hovertanks had rolled out of the Blue Hearts' carriers; orders would eventually be passed down the line, and everyone would be in position before Barran could finish the boiling-hot contents of his tea-mug. Running back to Erskine, all his subordinate-officers would join him for hot-tea and await their Lord-Major's final command, all whilst the Blue-Hearts' walkers slowly paced forward in pre-emptive anticipation of being overtaken by the smaller, quicker vehicles in the column. Without being able to put his finger on how, Barran somehow knew his men would be able to prove their true worth that day; even with the handicaps of weather and terrain working against them, Lord Erskine knew the wide, frozen expanse of Hoth would work to their advantage like never before.
We can defend any ol' position in this weather, easy done when naebody can see or hear us moving around in it.

'Milord, shall we begin?'

Recapping on the specifics of the terrain around their landing-zone, the Lord Major remembered the reason for his choice-landing near hilly terrain to the southwest of their position, notably suspect as the only marks on an otherwise-flat region of the planet. Even with the high-winds kicking up all the blizzard's maddening-shrouds, the dark, ominous rises on the landscape could be seen from miles away, a disadvantage of sorts that Erskine was aggressively seeking to capitalise upon. Estimating where some of the flak was being shot from, a fair amount of it had been shot at their approach from the general vicinity of the rises they were seeking to move towards, so the only real logical option was to land to the northeast of the suspected enemy positions and work their way from there.
We know there's enemies dug in deep somewhere up there, ah only landed here to make they hulls easier ti find. Droids, don't fail me noo....

'Order a general advance southwest, ah want oor surveillance-droids ti confirm a hunch first. We obviously don't want oor turrets shootin' at shadows, as the ammunition-reserves wull be needed later in the operation.... Begin!'

To see the entire battle-line of Cataphract tanks come alive with movement, only to see them disappear again in the snow, brought goosebumps to Barran's neck that weren't as a result of the weather. The command-vehicles soon followed them, leaving the Lord-Major with his most-trusted bodyguards as he supervised it all from the landing-zone's defensive perimeter, overseeing every angle without any frontline risks to distract him. Impatiently waiting for the surveillance-droids to confirm his suspicions, Erskine was clenching his jaw in clear sight of his nearest guards; knowing he was never one to enjoy waiting too long for the fighting to break out, the guards, engineers and droid-technicians almost expected Barran's visible eagerness to take the initiative from his opponents.

'How we lookin', Josie? Any signs o' life yet?'

​

​

 

[Djorn Bline]

D I A M O N D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
HOTH
BYOO
FOCUS | Aerarii Tithe

For a bittersweet hellscape planet such as Hoth, there was a good number of military grade bases and outposts laying around untouched.

Good.

It was free real estate for him and his partners in this clandestine operations of theirs.

As a token of goodwill and friendship, the New Imperial Order was more than happy to aid their compatriot Imperials of the First Order in reclaiming Hoth under their banner. Like the Snake he is, he would use this as a guise to mobilize assets in his operations against a particular nation that inhabited this side of the known Galaxy.

“Well, Tithe, this is where we can get started,” mentioned towards the infrastructure of this archaic base that still stood tall in the Icefall Plains.

“The First Order doesn’t know what we’re doing just so you to know. I’m sure they won’t be happy about it without me giving them a heads up,” he commented further to the Vice Chancellor; this could be a gamble as it was a possibility of straining newfound relations between the First Order and the New Imperial Order.

“But I’ll worry about that later, I can give a call to a contact of mine,” a contact that he was rather intimate with.

“So did you got whatever I asked of you back on Kynachi?”

 

[Resurgent Vignette]

((Author's Note: I am on a semi-LOA and will not likely be able to reply for another day or two. Please feel free to use the defenses and actions ordered below to provide some opposition and actions being taken at the base. Happy hunting!))

Karryar returned to the base, maneuvering the corridors expertly as if he'd known the twisting labyrinth since childhood. Along the corridors and in the rooms branching out from them, he spied his men preparing. The alarm hadn't been sounded yet, but the men knew something was coming and they were on edge. They were good men, dedicated to their work and to the cause, to the memory of Sieger Ren and the leadership of Karryar Ren. Many of them would die in defense of their beliefs. It was a necessary sacrifice. They all understood this.

Karryar understood it more than most.

He arrived in the command center and proceeded to the command display table. He circled it, examining the lights popping up as the defenses came online. Layers of heavy weapons, defensive positions, minefields, and trenches lined the approach to the base. The mountainous tundra formed a barrier to the south and south-east, leaving just the north and north-west on approach. Mines were buried in the tundra on first approach, followed by heavy weapons turrets interspersed with another layer of mines and several trenches.

It wasn't perfect and perhaps it wouldn't stand, but no one was leaving this place whole. He turned to the technicians. "Order the civilians into readiness condition aurek. If things get hairy they'll need to be evacuated. Defense condition three for our forces. We're about to have visitors. Fire up the defenses."

DECEASED Erskine Barran | Dresden Verbrennung | Rolf Amsel | FN-999 | Thea​

 

[Jend-Ro Quill]

NEAR THE JEDI ENCLAVE
MOUNT ISON, NORTHWEST CORNER OF NORTH RIDGE
POPULATION: 1

While Quill kept a loose eye on the enclave's commscan suite, he didn't have time to monitor it consistently. So when Karryar Ren and his followers set up shop not far away, Quill flat-out missed it. The first he heard of their arrival came from a Wampa elder over tauntaun sashimi. Quill had moved into the abandoned enclave not long after the last great Ssi-Ruuk incursion. Since then, governments and independents aplenty had brought violence to Hoth.

But he and the wampa elder shared particularly grim feelings about this latest presence. Karryar Ren's men, materiel, and Dark Side mien were already a problem even before it became clear the traitor was preparing for a serious fight.

Layers of heavy weapons, defensive positions, minefields, and trenches lined the approach to the base. The mountainous tundra formed a barrier to the south and south-east, leaving just the north and north-west on approach. Mines were buried in the tundra on first approach, followed by heavy weapons turrets interspersed with another layer of mines and several trenches.​

This morning the bad dreams had refused to fade. Now Quill perched on a Mount Ison crag and looked down to the south and east over the remainder of the North Ridge region - the Clabburn Range, Hanging Valley, the Lanteel and Cirque Glaciers. Blizzard conditions obscured all but the faintest details; he knew this area by cliff-edges and high-contrast crags. Karryar Ren had choked the region with mines, trenches, prefabs, turrets, and a gigantic shield generator. And between sensor glimpses, the odd visual contact, and the occasional snatch of some trooper's determined march, Quill was fairly sure Karryar's expected enemy had arrived. The whole North Ridge felt like impending hell.

Quill scratched absently at his snow-encrusted beard, wishing he'd kept it long for a little more chin coverage. He could use Jedi arts to control his body temperature with the best of them - it didn't make an icy wind any more comfortable.

Years and years he'd lived here. Now he saw no alternative but to leave. His trusty Y-Wing was half disassembled and the Visitor was offworld with friends, so he'd take his old snowspeeder down to an emergency shuttle buried in a Lanteel crevasse, and hope the dang thing started up. Hermit life being what it was, he didn't need to pack so much as grab a couple of Jedi relics from the enclave's vault.

Before any of that, though, curiosity compelled him. The new arrivals, whoever they were, cared a great deal about crushing Karryar Ren and company - and could hardly be worse for the native wampas. They didn't stink of the Dark Side like Karryar did either. Maybe they could use a little help.

An avalanche was out of the question: the blizzard had killed visibility, and something that indiscriminate could skew the odds in Karryar's favor. Twisting the blizzard was out too: he could affect the weather, but that could jeopardize the attackers' visual cover. Crouching there on the Mount Ison trail, wrapped in cold-weather robes and a growing layer of snow, Quill dug through his metaphorical bag of tricks.

Other Jedi could throw concussions around, walk through fire, shatter stone, duel ten Sith apiece - Quill was no good at those things and had little interest in them to boot. The technique he selected was, admittedly, an incongruous choice that brought a surprised chuckle, but it made sense.

He'd learned memory-sharing from the elders of the Gutretee on Isis, and then from a different set of elders on Entooine. He'd used that skill many times in Jedi teaching. At a high and general level, finding Karryar's enemies in the Force wasn't terribly hard - he sensed soldiers' determination as they marched under cover of the blizzard. These were hard-bitten men and women, disciplined professional veterans. He liked their chances against Karryar Ren and company. But Hoth's natural threats had a way of twisting outcomes, so the Hermit of Hoth reached out to balance those odds.

A few minds stood out to him, for whatever reason: tough souls, implacable but not necessarily malevolent. He sent those people ( Dresden Verbrennung , Rolf Amsel , FN-999, Thea , and DECEASED Erskine Barran ) threads of memory, deja vu leading into comfortable familiarity. Those people would know the terrain around them - crevasses, sheer glaciers, dangerous caves, areas of blasting unpredictable wind. This was hard-won knowledge. With less certainty, he threw in the general locations of the all-important trenches and minefields that the blizzard concealed.

Admittedly, whoever these soldiers were, they had no reason to trust the new instincts and understanding that came out of nowhere, but it would all quickly bear out as accurate. Also, it came with a sense of "Good luck out there," and just a hint of recent memory - someone looking down from Mount Ison with a friendly eye.

Nodding to himself, he shook off the snow. He headed for the enclave and the snowspeeder therein. Whoever won the battle, his comfortable solitude felt very much like a thing of the past.

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

Snow-armor that matched the pattern of Clan Kurze, Matidia had reached the Archives on a speeder bike. She hid the bike between wrecks at least two kilometers away. Years ago, Matidia had been at this very place - as Ariel Yvarro who had been searching for any information regarding her cousin. The information uncovered here was of the utmost importance and as far as anyone knew Ariel Yvarro was off with an important meeting to conduct elsewhere. Matidia Kurze was simply an agent on behalf of the Moff. ​

​

The frozen wastes of Hoth having been familiar to Kurze only made the note of other arrivals all the more curious. Undoubtedly Intelligence would have dispatched a team here just as the First Order worked to bring Hoth back under its banner once again. Kurze knelt behind a patchwork of wreckage, roughly half a kilometer southeast from the entrance where smugglers and their ilk had gathered around the crashed hulk of an Imperium cruiser. Activating her helmet's thermal view she was able to get a count of them. ​

​

Matidia mulled over the choice of attack, she could go high or low - high if she was able to get up on a ledge without being noticed, or low and make use of stealth attacks. Alternatively, there were agents within the area of operation that could either help or rush in while the others are distracted. A continued survey of the area revealed another way, a hidden passage and that would be the preferred entrance over causing a ruckus on the outside.​

​

Quietly the Mandalorian slipped past the patrols, making use of shadows and cover where she could. Into the passage, she could at least note the thermal energy left behind the other agents. Or at least, Matidia hoped they were other agents and not smugglers. Matidia paused and noticed there had been another entrance - one that had gone unnoticed to her as she got a look at the sinister hues from the lights - or lack thereof. ​

​

She wasn't too far off from the others. ​

​

Matidia brushed the snow and dust off her beskargam and pressed forward. The path led downward via a set of stairs and the Mandalorian carefully walked down - being sure to keep her steps quiet. Whispers of those party to the smugglers, pirates, or whoever they were could be heard. She placed her hand over her blaster pistol, withdrew it, and steadied herself as the stairs met with durasteel plates. ​

The Major | Aurelian Dash | Nima Vantoon ​

​

​

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

A shiver went down Dresden's spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Point in fact, he was actually quite toasty in his seat in the Highball. Just because the infantry wanted to freeze their arses off, didn't mean he had to. Nope, the chill had absolutely nothing to do with the toasty air inside the gun, or the steaming coffee in Dresden's spillproof mug, either. He took a sip, savoring the heat that flowed down into his belly, only wishing he could have added a dash of whiskey to it. To be fair, he had offered a mug to the trooper nearest his hatch when the poor bastard climbed on, but had been firmly but politely told to kark off.

Memories that weren't his own sat on the surface of his consciousness. Memories of things he should have no idea about: hidden terrain features that weren't on the map, potential hazards that could spell doom for the armored column should they run afoul of them. Dresden wasn't Force sensitive himself, at least, not on any appreciable level. In his recent "therapy", the "doctors" had informed him that his M-count, whatever that was, was slightly elevated above baseline, but not enough to grant him any special powers. The "doctors" (mad scientists was more appropriate) postulated that it was just enough to explain his survival. His body had literally kept going on sheer determination, fed by a just enough ethereal energy to keep it alive when it should have been worm food. Part of his "therapy" (read: mad science experiments) had included testing the limits of his meager abilities. Reaching out to touch others was beyond him, but he could recognize when someone touched him.

This presence was old and tough and, somehow, friendly? Fatherly? Whatever it was, it wasn't overly fond of the madman they were attacking, and Dresden had no reason to distrust it, even if he wasn't exactly sure what it was.

"All units, all units, be advised, we're going to halt in place to assess some new intel. All 6 and 7 elements, switch to channel 2."

Thank you, whoever you are, Dresden thought really hard at the ghostly presence of Jend-Ro Quill . If we ever meet, I owe you a case of beer.

He had no idea if the old man(?) would hear him, but what the hell, it was worth a shot.

As the column ground to a halt, Dresden didn't bother telling the various commanders what to do. The infantry should know to set a perimeter, the tanks should know to laager up around the walkers, the redlegs should know to ground and prepare to receive fire missions, so on and so forth. His own place in the command structure was somewhat nebulous. As FOSB, he wasn't technically a part of the chain of command, but he could brevet himself enough rank to get the point across if anyone tried to make a stink about it. That sort of action tended to make FOSB agents deeply unpopular if they did it unnecessarily, which is why he was really hoping he wouldn't have to. In the meantime, he trusted everyone to be the professionals they were supposed to be.

Without bothering to wait for acknowledgement on the common net, he switched his radio over to channel 2.

"All stations, this is Campfire 6. Be advised, we've just received word of some hazards up ahead," he said. He hastily scrawled the approximate locations of the relevant hazards on the overhead imagery provided by his command tablet, and waited for the overlays to mirror on the other displays before continuing. "Most relevant to our current situation, we've got minefields here, and here, as well as some camouflaged gun emplacements we didn't pick up on the scans here, here, here, and here. Open to ideas, gents."

DECEASED Erskine Barran | Thea | FN-999 | Rolf Amsel​

 

[First Order Officer]

​

FIV Enarmes, Guardian-class Corvette
Outer Hoth System
In company with FIV Targe

Whatever misgivings she had about this whole situation aside, Lieutenant Commander Katcaro Levespe had to admit that whatever tailor had crafted the suit now being worn by the slightly dignified looking Gamorrean had some small measure of skill. It didn't make the snorting any less repulsive, but it did at least look like a tailored suit. Hopefully the artisan got paid and hadn't been forced at gun-or-axe-point to do the job. The pig-man, introduced earlier as 'Lanarg' was repeating for the third time that he was a survivor who could see how the winds were changing, but his culture demanded some form of combat, and so on and so forth.

It had been like this for maybe thirty minutes, and Katcaro was frustrated with talking in circles. Despite the Gamorrean smuggler's broken basic, it was clear what he wanted, and Kat for one was perfectly willing to go along with things. The odds of picking smuggler bases out of the dense asteroid belt surrounding the ice planet were slim without a lead, and she didn't much fancy hazarding her ship for a chance at a sniff.

"Cut the chit, Gamorrean."

The pig man snorted once, aggressively, but got quiet.

"We get it, you can stop with the cultural theatrics. Ping us the coordinates and we'll look the other way for a while, enough time for you to pull your assets and fade away, or go to ground if you think you can handle it."

Lanarg started snorting in a slow rhythmic way that Kat puzzled over for a second before she realized it was laughter. Then he spoke, in clean, crisp, albeit guttural sounding galactic basic. "You will not regret this Imperial. We kept this system running in the wake of the Ssi-Ruuk invasion, you will see how we are needed before long."

Kat scoffed. "But not all of you, right? Don't overestimate your importance to the New Order, smuggler. But you have your head start, best start running before we wrap things up with your former compatriots."

The Gamorrean laughed again, this time in a way that made Kat's hair stand on end. She kept her face a stone-cold mask though. "Good hunting, Imperial."

The line cut, and was quickly replaced by Berger's clearly concerned looking face. "I wasn't aware we had authorization to conclude diplomatic negotiations, Kat." His tone was just shy of mocking.

Katcaro shrugged. "Lets bag a few smuggling rings and see how Central Command wants to handle things afterwards. All eyes are on the planet right now anyway, nobody will care about what happens out here until we tell them to. I'll feed the coordinates to BigEye for overwatch and we can split up and pincer them with the squadrons on standby in case there's any runners."

Berger chewed air for a bit, and for a moment Kat thought he might actually say something, but in the end, as always, he just shrugged. "Fine, we'll do it your way. Suppose there's multiple sites, and they communicate. Maybe the local cells aren't all as cutthroat as the Gamorrean."

It was a valid point, and given that the planning up to this point had been Kat thinking on her feet, it was one she hadn't considered. Sure enough as the coordinates flashed in there were three sites, one medium-sized asteroid shipdock (designated Site Aurek) and a pair of concealed locations that were most likely 'cargo' facilities (designated sites Besh and Dorn, respectively), all too far apart to cover with only a pair of corvettes.

"We'll have to be clever then. You and I will hit the shipdock, and we'll put the fighters under BigEye's control, one squadron for each of the smaller facilities. They don't need to to level the places, just discourage anyone who wants to leave until we finish up." Berger just nodded again. "It looks good on paper, as always. See you there Kat."

'As always.' Like her plans had ever screwed them or something. But she couldn't shake the Gamorrean's eerie laugh either.

 

[Rolf Amsel]

Col. Rolf Amsel | 9th Imperial Fleet
"Wampa 6"
-

​

Content that the ride hadn't rattled any of his teeth loose, the Colonel breathed a sigh of relief nonetheless as the vehicles came to a stop. Floating on a cushion of air, the technology was somewhat dated but he had to admit it made for a fuss-free, smooooth ride compared to some of the rigs he'd been in and on during his career. The first to leap off the vehicles, Rolf quickly made the switch to the new frequency. That was the problem down here beneath the atmosphere of such a turbulent planet, certain frequencies tended to get crowded by all the extra noise. In silent succession, the men of the 9th's Stormtrooper complement disembarked, a flurry of action contrasting with the holding pattern. Using the terrain to their advantage, troopers began setting up a perimeter, scout elements already finding the highest bit of ground from which to glass the surrounding tundra - if you could call it that.

Before his second foot had hit the deck however, he'd felt a strange sensation lingering at the edges of his mind. A place that had long lain dormant, forgotten even. It took the veteran trooper a moment to harken back to some of his own, oldest memories. Though he recognized the terrain of Hoth well enough on his own merit, he felt a subtle prodding, certain landmarks appearing more prominent despite the inclement weather. Strange. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. His own? Or perhaps something else. Rolf got a sense that they were not the only ones with violent intent towards the warlord who'd taken up keep on Hoth. Checking his internal HUD readouts the trooper commander made note of several new points of interest which had been pinged and began developing an approach route. The mines would sort themselves out, no need to waste precious time leading his men through that gauntlet. For now it was a waiting game but as soon as they could proceed, the trenches would be theirs. For a moment his mind drifted back to the trenches of Kaeshana, the violence, the gore - here there would be more of the same but instead of the mixture of brown and blood it would stand out stark white against the snow.

Dresden Verbrennung​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

BLUE-HEART BATTALION

Allies: Dresden Verbrennung Rolf Amsel Jend-Ro Quill Thea

'Josie, show me the wider area on the map-hologram. Nae spearin' why, just settle wae the fact that there's a force-sensitive deployed in the area, and a powerful one at that.'

A distinct, prickly feeling was cloying at the follicles of his greying hair, a shiver unlike any other Lord Erskine had known in his life, so the memorable feeling it left had almost confirmed it to be the practised work of a gifted Jedi. The only other moment in Barran's life when such a feeling had washed over him, the only distinctively force-sensitive assistance he could refer to, was when the voice of an old Jedi helped him out of a particularly nasty encirclement almost a decade before. It was another cold planet like Hoth, on the galactic outer-rim plying the Blue-Hearts' then-usual vocational fare of fighting in proxy-wars, (and overthrowing planetary-governments) and all hope was close to dwindling before the old man's voice sent those rare shivers washing over the exiled nobleman's head for the first time.
Ah know ah've felt this afore, but whit force-sensitive could possibly know this area so well? At least he's courteous though, ayways helps.

'Milord, what am I supposed to be looking for? All we have are pings for friendly units in the area, otherwise it's nothing else but dead opponents and wrecked enemy-ordnance.', Leftenant Jorie called out, hoping for specifics from a commanding-officer who was seeming to grow increasingly unpredictable with every passing minute. As the Lord-Major returned strolling from his staredown with the snowy abyss beyond, the promising Blue-Heart subordinate had also noticed that their first offensive had been an easy success, making sure to move evidence-snapshots to other holographic devices within Barran's command-vehicle as the man himself stepped inside.

'When ah set the markers, you'll know exactly what to do; ah've quite a few ti put up, so ye may as well get the kettle oan again. "Dodgy pot-shots and boilin' hot teapots", Josie. And when ah say,"Aw day long", ye know it's gawn ti be a shift-an'-a-half. We'll be at this for a while, so gie yersel a shake and start lookin' busy!'

In the following hour, all the nearest hidden positions had been identified without even needing to send the droids out again; the helping hand, obscure though the source of it's voice was to Erskine, had saved valuable time and manpower in the pinnacle moments of the operation. Whoever this Jedi was, Barran knew he would have many and more thanks to send in this force-using ally's direction, though the Lord-Major was doubting he would ever be able to thank this cordial individual in person. If the markers were to prove correct, the next phase of their mission would be set on a silver platter for them; southward of the rise they had won and occupied (almost twenty minutes beforehand) lay a wide front of foxholes, redoubts and a clear static battle-line from the Blue-Hearts' southeast and southwest bearings, offering a visible line of fire with only two punctures to divert their shooting-arcs into three perfect windows.

'Send out warnings ti the three friendly contingents bearing oan the enemies' static line, have them hold until we advance. Just makin' sure we'll be havin' none o' that friendly-fire nonsense, canni be too careful that way.'

​

​

 

[Aurelian Dash]

-
​

It felt as if the very planet itself was making an attempt to do them in - frost clinging to the edges of his short cropped beard. Having removed his face covering as they'd slid inside the refuge of the allegedly abandoned facility he let loose a sigh. "Well, let's not do that again." he said. Brushing off the copious amounts of snow and ice that had collected on his outer layer Aurelian gave their new surroundings a once over. The wind still whistled outside, echoing deeper within and creating an eerie howl in the dilapidated space. "Are you sure we have to go in here?" he frowned at the Major. The veteran FOSB agent had read the briefs just like her and knew full well this is where they needed to be but it didn't keep him from loathing it. "A long forgotten store of Security Bureau data, that's it? We all know how that turned out last time." Aurelian rolled his eyes and slid his blaster pistol from its holster.

They'd certainly stepped in it aboard the FIV Virulent and if his gut was anything to go by they were about to do so again - well, except this time they were probably pretty assured that there wasn't going to be any Blackwing virus in play. Probably. Looking up towards the ceiling and then back down towards the walls, Aurelian retrived a torch from his belt and illuminated the immediate area. "Couldn't hurt to set up a trip sensor here, make sure no one comes in behind us." They'd been warned about the natural fauna - more importantly the Wampa population. They didn't exactly like visitors and who knew what kind of creatures had managed to find the inviting doors of this facility and taken up roost.

"Well? Where to next Major?"

The Major | Isobel Nakano | Ariel Yvarro | Nima Vantoon​

 

[FN-999]

POST: II
COMMANDED UNIT: THE 19th (180/180)
NOTABLE OFFICERS: Thea
SPECIAL EQUIPMENT (Standard armaments implied): Snow armor | Flamethrowers
ALLIES: FO | Dresden Verbrennung | Rolf Amsel

FN-999 stood in well-disciplined silence as he heard his company's status report.
​

He expected every one of his troopers to be in good condition as they had not run into any hostiles or potentially lethal weather conditions. As each squad announced their good health and secured armaments, followed by each of the six platoons that formed the 19th, the captain was not disappointed.

"Thank you for the report." stated FN-999 once the last of the platoons had announced their status.

​

"Let's continue our advance downhill and use our momentum to consolidate ourselves into the right flank of the First Order units."

FN-999 slammed his sheathed electric sword into the ground, and the march continued.

Within minutes, the individual helmets of the troopers surrounding the armored columns became visible. The company ceased to travel towards the First Order unit about one hundred meters away from their right flank, forming a new combined right flank. He could feel the hidden envious gazes of some of the 19th's troopers on the thermally insulated command vehicles of the larger First Order formations. It was somewhat amusing to the captain, so he decided to make a proclamation through the company's comms network.

[When we win this battle, I'll ask the Order's higher-ups whether or not we can hitchhike back to our landing site on their vehicles.]

A brief cheer ran through the lines of the 19th at the petty prospect of temporary heat and the unusual act of kindness from their usually strict CO. FN-999 entertained the applause as a morale booster and was prepared to let out a cry of his own when a sudden sensation struck him deep in his skull.

Those people would know the terrain around them - crevasses, sheer glaciers, dangerous caves, areas of blasting unpredictable wind. This was hard-won knowledge. With less certainty, he threw in the general locations of the all-important trenches and minefields that the blizzard concealed.

Admittedly, whoever these soldiers were, they had no reason to trust the new instincts and understanding that came out of nowhere, but it would all quickly bear out as accurate. Also, it came with a sense of "Good luck out there," and just a hint of recent memory - someone looking down from Mount Ison with a friendly eye.

A myriad of images barraged the brains of the troopers of the 19th, revealing a vast landscape and hidden enemy fortifications. FN-999 was familiar with the mind tricks utilized by the magics of the Jedi and Sith, but this technique shocked even him in its complexity. It was if he was standing on a peak far above the vast frozen plateaus of the planet, observing a vast domain as a powerless observer.

As suddenly as the projections had started, they ceased, and FN-999 nearly tipped over as he regained feeling in his body. Before the company could panic, he rapidly delivered another order on the company's comms frequency.

[What we just saw was a projection forced into our minds by a user of the Force. It was certainly shocking, but they seem to have provided us visual intel on our surroundings and hostile fortifications. I'm not sure whether the individual behind these projections is friendly or hostile, but their intel seems to be genuine and accurate to our current surroundings. The First Order units likely received a similar projection, so prepare for a change in movement.]

Letting out a deep exhale, FN-999 continued to advance.

'Send out warnings to the three friendly contingents bearing oan the enemies' static line, have them hold until we advance. Just makin' sure we'll be havin' none o' that friendly-fire nonsense, canni be too careful that way.'​

Just then, an order was delivered from a larger New Imperial unit amidst the combined task force. The encryptions of the First Order side of task force that seemed to have only been slightly modified since FN-999 was still in First Order service. The memory heightened his nerves once more, and his fear of being recognized as a deserter returned. Yet the captain was not alone in his contested emotional state. Several of his lieutenants had been members of FN-999's old First Order squad, and they too had departed with their CO when he had left the First Order after reallocating the shuttle from his final recruitment mission. As he searched for ways to distract himself and a place to halt the company, a certain squad found its way into his head.

The Ocean Squad had been recently assigned as one of five supplementary squads on top of the 150-man base of the 19th Assault Company, and it was carrying with it a considerable quantity of anti-tank rocket launchers. For a unit that normally was normally given warm-weather shoretrooper assignments, the Ocean Squad was holding up admirably in the frigid weather of Hoth. Still, he retained some worry due to how foreign their assignment was from their typical routines, especially compared to the heavy frontline operations of most of the 19th. Perhaps he could distract himself by calling up their sergeant and checking on how they were handling their new assignment.

[Halt! Hold the flank and do not move until we are ordered to do so. Additionally, could I please have the sergeant of the Ocean Squad come up to the front to meet me? You're not in trouble, I just want to discuss something with you.]

He observed as the humanoid snowtrooper approached, unremarkable aside from their pauldron and impressive height, nearly four centimeters taller than himself. If they were in a romantic comedy where he was a woman and the sergeant was a male, it would be a perfect height difference. He quietly chucked to himself at the thought, considering that the sergeant most likely was a male himself. Then, he addressed the officer.

"Sergeant, how's this weather been treating your squad? I know that this is a bit different from your usual deployments, and I want to make sure that you can keep up with the other elements of the company once we get into battle."

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

LOCATION: Dorn Base, Hoth
OBJECTIVE: Operation Ajax BYOO
ALLIES: Djorn Bline

Tithe, dressed from hooded head to thick booted toe in heavy thermal wear, looked around the ancient frostbitten compound with a look of scepticism. He’d made plenty of credits in the past investing in ideas or property which others lacked the vision to see the potential of, but today it seemed he was the one unable to imagine how this derelict military base could be the key to sewing chaos throughout the Eternal Empire.

Instead, he elected to believe not in the base, but Commissioner Bline. If the man’s reputation - and the rate at which he was burning credits - was any indication, Tithe had little to worry about.

He snapped his finger, summoning forward two Strategic Intelligence Agency paramilitary officers. Each of them dropped a camtomo to unmarked Galactic Standard Credits on the icy floor of the base. One of the officers withdrew a datastick from their pocket and tried to hand it to Tithe. The Vice Chancellor raised his hand in protest and took a step back. He already had more than enough literal and figurative fingerprints all over this mission. The SIA officer tossed the datastick to Djorn.

“The latest daily dispatch from the SIA covering all things Eternal, along with insurgent contacts on Endor and along the Sanctuary Pipeline,” the Aarguun explained.

“Tambor tells me the interdictor refit is almost complete,” he added. A Galactic Alliance interdictor cruiser, struck from the register after the Battle of Byss due to minor damage, had been repaired in secret by the Trade Federation under a new identity. “I suspect I, ah, don’t what to know what you have planned for it?”